When the Smoke Clears
by Marie Allen
Summary: Some couples started out with the light. Their beginnings always started in the dark. Very adult situations, insinuations, and language.
1. Marcus Scott

Summary: When you are part of a secret organization, your life is anything but simple and routine. There is always someone after you and living three lives is not just uncommon, but necessary. Not everything is what it seems.

AN: This has been on my mind for a while and it was originally just going to be a one shot. Then I kept going and it was drawn out into a three shot. But then I kept adding more and now it's turning out to be a small group of chapters.

This story will contain language, adult situations, and implied underage sex.

There will be some confusion in this chapter but everything will be explained throughout the story. I hope that you enjoy it.

* * *

When the Smoke Clears  
Chapter 1: Marcus Scott

* * *

_Hi Helga,_

_Sorry it's taken me so long to write to you. Things have just been so crazy over on this side of the world. Just the other day a local guy went missing and turned up in the water. Apparently it was a piranha attack. Attacks have been rare and very few and far between so it was a shock. The guy had just lost his wife to childbirth a few months ago, so it's been pretty sad in town, when I manage to get over there._

_No, I don't think I'm going to make it to the reunion in the summer. Unless something shakes up soon around here, I won't be going anywhere any time soon. I don't know why she continues to invite me to those things. I didn't really go to high school there, let alone graduate from Hillwood. Is a 15-year reunion even a thing?_

_Rhonda and her parties. I would have thought that she would have grown out of it. I think you're right though, about her being lonely. No kids and no job with a constantly traveling husband will do that to you. No offense._

_Speaking of, how's __Quinten__ doing? I hope they're keeping him busy, for his sake. That mind of his always needs to be going or else he'll get into trouble. I still have the scars to prove it._

_So the dig is going smoothly. No issues, I mean. Still haven't been able to find anything significant but the interns are ecstatic with all the pottery and bits of writing we've been uncovering. It's really nothing new, but it is to them. I'm still hoping to find something big so we can keep them down here._

_I've run out of paper and won't be able to get more until I get into town…when I drop off this letter. I hope you're doing well and enjoying Japan. Send some pictures next time! You're so bad about that and I'd love to see some._

_Arnold  
_

* * *

_Hey Football Head,_

_How's it going in the deepest, darkest jungles in the middle of B.F.N.? Lose any limbs or teeth yet? You know, you really should be careful out there. Yeah, yeah, I don't want to hear that 'I always say that' or that 'you're really careful' blah, blah, blah. I don't want to hear about any more snake bites and you refusing to get help. I was half expecting to hear about another incident in your last letter. _

_I am sorry to hear about that guy, though, but I'm glad that it wasn't you. You're going to get bit one day and there won't be any magical jungle leaves to heal you. I'm just saying that I don't want to have to fly down there and kick your ass for not listening to me. And stay out of the water. I hear piranhas like weird-headed kids._

_Quinten__ is fine. He's been really busy, doing his technical sales thing and you're absolutely right. Dangerous things happen when he doesn't keep himself busy, haha. (No scars for me though. I'm awesome like that). _

_I'm really fortunate that his job can be just as mobile as mine, as long as he's willing (read: no choice) to work at odd hours to get on the same time zone as his clients. But hey, my hours are weird too, so it works out._

_I'm not sure when you'll get this, but it's April here in Japan. The cherry blossoms just bloomed and I went to the festival yesterday. Well, sort of. There are too many fucking people that go to those things so I took my own tour up in the hills. No, there aren't any cherry trees up there, but I did get one hell of a view from above. And, best of all, no tourists! I really love Japan, but I'm getting really tired of how many people there are here. I think it's time for a change of scenery. I haven't been to Italy in a while and a good bottle of Amarone has been calling my name._

_Who knows if a 15-year reunion is an actual thing? Does it matter? It's an excuse for a party. I think it's supposed to be _Havana Nights_ this year. Some theme, eh? I can't believe you're questioning your invite! It doesn't matter that you didn't graduate with everyone. You would have, if you hadn't decided to play Tarzan in San Lorenzo. Besides, PS118 was a special time for all of us. We went through so much together and Rhonda, in her own way, recognizes that and is kind of holding onto it, don't you think? Who cares about missing middle and high school? Rhonda was always about our group and after all these years, she's still really the glue. Who would have ever guessed that._

_I think they'd really appreciate it if you went. First week of June. Try and get it off, won't you?_

_Anyway, I hope you're alive when you get this and that your fleas haven't taken over that football-headed brain of yours._

_Yours affectionately,_

_Helga, the nightmare in your dreams  
_

* * *

It is going to be a beautiful end-of-May morning. Of course she cannot really know that, since the sun still has yet to break the horizon, but she can feel it. There is something about the air that promises a beautiful day. Maybe it is how the dew still clings to leaves, desperate to stay on until they evaporate into the atmosphere, making the humidity thick in their despair.

Most people don't like humidity, but she has grown to love it. She won't lie; the first time she really experienced jungle weather she had complained almost non-stop about the bugs and weather and animals and all the _bugs_. But life matures you, hopefully, and she got over it and is able to appreciate it now. Not that she wasn't mature at the time.

But it does wonders on her skin and she's gotten over it.

She stretches her legs and neck, taking in the very early morning sounds. Bugs shriek and tiny mammals and reptiles rustle along the floor. The larger, night animals are just settling into bed by now, resting quietly and hidden until hunger brings them out again. She plans to not be nearby at that time.

Rolling up her bedroll, she sticks it in her pack and starts her short journey. It is still dark but she can make her way down the path, having familiarized herself earlier. It is important to do that; make your path known before you run down it. She had learned the hard way many times over and she always makes it a point to know the way as often as she can. She would rather not run into a nest of badgers again anytime soon. And just because this is Brazil it does not mean there are no badgers. It's just her luck.

Having been technically a ward of the state since she was a kid after the death of her parents, she had gone headfirst in a lot of things that she should have been cautionary about. Life lesson learned there too: paths are not just physical.

The tiny hut suddenly comes into view and she slows her trek. The pack slips silently off her back and she rolls her shoulders, preparing herself. Her eyes and senses are on the hut in front of her, listening for any movement or insignificant noise. She has passed by other huts, but the people inside those hold no interest for her. They do not contain the man she is looking for.

Minutes go by. It is quiet, as it should be. Dawn still has yet to reach the earth and the silence confirms that he continues to sleep. She smirks.

Time to move.

She picks up her pack once more and quietly, slowly stalks towards the one-room hut. The roof is made of leaves and other material that the forest provides, allowing nature to overtake it should it ever be abandoned. After this morning, it will be.

She sets her pack quietly down the same time she leans close to the makeshift door. It is a simple piece of cloth and is only there to keep any flying bugs out. Any larger predators could easily slip inside. Like her.

She is standing there, frozen and straining. She hears nothing, but the hairs on the back of her neck are standing up and she always listens to her instinct. Something is not right. Gently, without a sound, she slips the knife out of its holder on her hip, still waiting for any noise from her target inside. Silence greets her.

She slides inside, blade pointed out.

The flap makes only a swish, smaller than any burst of wind would make. In the corner of the room is a temporary bed, similar to the bedroll that she has, but she doesn't move towards it.

It's empty.

"Sloppy." She stiffens as a blade presses up against her throat. She cannot hear him breathe, but she can feel him to her left. Her eyes narrow and her hand clenches tightly onto the hilt of her own knife. How did he hear her when she couldn't even hear him? She doesn't respond to his goading.

He smirks at her silence and moves to stand behind her, forcing her to step ahead and away from the door. He's behind her now, with his right, thick arm across her chest. The blade in his left hand never leaves her throat.

"Drop it." His breath tickles the hairs on the back of her neck, still standing on end, and she drops her blade with a thud onto the ground. "There's a good girl." He smirks and she sees red. She _hates _that_._ "Did you think you would be able to sneak up on me?" She can feel the arrogance oozing from him.

"Someone tipped you off that I was coming." She narrows her eyes when she feels his lips against her neck and she twists against his arm, but his grip is strong. He only tightens it as she fights him.

His response is only to lick the side of her neck and growls when she struggles harder than before, but she cannot help but shiver. The low rumble in his chest behind her reverberates as he chuckles. Asshole! The knife against her throat slacks just a smidge as he drops his guard for only a moment, but it is enough.

With her left hand, she grabs his wrist and pulls it away the same time as she throws her body forward, pulling him over her back. His leg kicks at her ankles when he lands, dropping her to the ground. She kicks him in the chest and grins when he lets out an _oompf!_ She has only 1.3 seconds to grab one of the fallen knives and get it to his throat.

Of course she makes it.

He laughs and she pushes the blade deeper into his skin and he stops his snickering. "Fine. You win. Let me up."

"You're no in a position to be making demands, Shortman." She slides the blade down his throat teasing his Adam's apple with the tip of the blade and smirks. "And unlike you, I don't make slipups." She nicks him then, on the side of his neck. He let out a surprised yelp and she laughs, sheathing her blade.

"What the fuck!" He puts his hand up to his neck and checks his fingers.

Blood.

_Bitch._

"You know I hate being called _girl,_ you asshole. And stop swearing, it's unbecoming for you."

"Then you shouldn't try to sneak up on me." She rolls her eyes and stands, offering her hand to hoist him up. "I can't believe you stabbed me!"

Her knife is sheathed and she holds back a laugh as he shuffles around to look for something to clean his neck. "It's a knick, you baby. You're just a sore loser."

There is just enough light seeping from outside that she can see something on his chest and she focuses her attention there. When he turns, she is able to stare directly at it. Sometimes it is a pain that she stopped growing at five foot five. There is often a time when she wishes that she has at least three more inches, especially during combat, but more than once it had actually been used to her advantage. Like now.

"When did you get this?" Light fingers touch the dark tattoo in surprise. She can see it is there, but not what it is.

He picks up her hand and kisses the tips of her fingers, dropping the cloth with the tiniest bit of blood on it. "Two months ago. Do you like it?" He doesn't give her a chance to respond or to look at it more clearly before his lips are heavy on hers. They have been apart for three months and one kiss isn't enough. His tongue slips past her lips, locking in a dance with her own as his arms tighten around her only for a moment and then they wander over her back and through her hair.

Her hands have found their way into his hair as well and she can feel how greasy it is. Did he stop keeping up with his hygiene when she wasn't around? "I missed you so much." He kisses her between each word and starts to pull the shirt out of her pants. She stops his hand and he grumbles when she pulls away.

"I missed you too, but we need to talk."

"Mmm," his lips were on hers again and his hands hold her slender waist tightly against him, deciding then to just show her how much he missed her. She can fight his words but never against his actions. "It can wait." He is kissing her neck, nipping randomly and not so gently.

She bites her lip to suppress a groan, knowing it will be their undoing if it escapes. If she lets this continue, it will be hours before she can have any sort of conversation with him. And while three months felt like thirty years for her, the reason why she was here was more urgent than them, especially since they had to be on the road soon.

Her hands clench at his hair and she pulls his head back from her. "When was the last time you took a shower? I think you have fleas."

He jerks back and looks down at her in horror. The slack in his arms gives her enough room to move and she can't help but laugh at his expression. "I don't have fleas!"

She steps away when he reaches for her, moving to grab her satchel from outside. He folds his arms over his bare chest, watching her and resisting the intense urge to rip off her clothing and drop her onto his small bed, reprimanding her for that snide comment. He shifts uncomfortably but doesn't block out the images of the things he'd rather be doing right now. "How'd you know I was alone?"

"I didn't." She's back inside now and throws him a parcel.

He catches it with ease and blinks at it. "What's this?"

"Mail delivery. I was in town a few days ago and took it upon myself to pick it up." Town was about a two-day journey south and he doesn't make it back there often now that their dig site has moved. It has been at least a month since he has made it into town and he is itching to get his letters. Because he was gone so long, there is a stack of a envelopes of various sizes from numerous countries.

He grins and tears into it, tossing the string holding the parcel together onto the ground and sits on his bedroll. If he can't have sex, this will do until then. "Thanks!" He flips through them stopping only when he comes across a baby pink envelope, wrinkled from its long journey. He notes the date is from last month. Damn, that long?

She rolls her eyes at him, not commenting aloud at his sudden change of attitude, and how quickly he replaces her with his letters from home, and begins to rummage through his rations. "What sounds good for breakfast?"

"Shut up, I'm reading."

She laughs. "Cinnamon Oatmeal it is." After grabbing the necessities to make breakfast, she heads back outside. Her lover has made a small fire pit a few steps away and she quickly brings it back to life before dumping the oatmeal and water into the pot and sits on a log next to the fire.

The sun is definitely on her way up in the sky now and the sounds of bugs are quieting down. Mornings are nice, but it is dusk that she loves the most. Some ancients used to believe that day and night were lovers and that dawn and dusk were the only times they were able to be together; to couple. Her favorite stories are of unrequited lovers finding each other and able to spend eternity together, even if it's for short periods of time.

"I don't have fleas!" He bellows from the hut and she snickers, listening to him rustle through the rest of the letters.

Cinnamon rushes her senses and she closes her eyes to think of Christmas. She can't remember the last time she participated in anything celebratory more than just in passing and subtle. Was it when she was nineteen? No! Twenty-five. It was with the team and they had all felt a little nostalgic. It was the last time they had all been together too. Jones and Reed would be killed before New Year's.

Fucking _Head._

How long had they been fighting them? How many needless deaths had there been? Would they die before they could see an end to the corrupt organization?

She opens her eyes when she feels Arnold pulling her up and out of her revelry. His arms are tight around her and he is kissing her again with those lips that bring her to the stars. She smiles and her hand is around his neck, lightly caressing. "You're the savior in my dreams, never the nightmare." Her smile broadens and he kisses her again. "I missed you," he whispers against her lips, and she knows that it won't be the last time today that he tells her.

Her hands play with his hair; greasy or not, she loves his blonde locks. "I missed you too." It doesn't matter that they had just said it minutes earlier in the hut. This was one of their longest times apart in the last fifteen years. Three months apart had been torture. "How did you know I was coming?"

He pecks her lips three more times. "I ran into Stitch about a week ago and he said that you'd be landing the next day."

"He always ruins my fun!" She scoffs. Arnold just smiles. He knows that she loves playing games with him but he loves trying to one up her almost as much. He hadn't known exactly when she would show up, but he had made sure to sleep extra light than normal. In all actuality, he had almost missed her walking up to the hut and it had really been more of a feeling than anything else he heard. After so many years together, he could almost always sense that she was nearby. For some reason, he never told him that. He knew that he would just get laughed at and be called a sap. And he was one.

She pulls back from him and kisses his shoulder as he sits next to her before opening a letter from his father. She is silent as he reads for a few moments, watching the oatmeal so it doesn't burn.

"Did you go to the Palio della Rana?" She looks over at him when he asks her the question before back at breakfast.

"Please. That's Quinten's thing, not mine." She stretches out her legs in front of her, avoiding the fire. "I have no interest in seeing any stupid races, let alone one with frogs in wheelbarrows. I went swimming instead and shipped off some wine home. It's funny, I never really liked Amarone until I got to Japan. Then it was all I could crave. So much for the sake love."

Over the years she developed a taste for wine. She doesn't think she is quite the wine connoisseur she should be, but it is definitely her alcohol of choice when she drinks. With all her traveling, it is a safe bet that she can recognize labels found in any establishment. And it doesn't hurt to know a thing or two about the popular topic during some of the more elite assignments. She also loves whiskey and has on more than one occasion impressed certain people with her vast knowledge of that particular liquid gold.

She is quiet for a moment and picks at her right hand. "We stayed at Emilio's."

Arnold stops reading his dad's letter and frowns down at her. He hates that guy. "Why would you stay with him?"

"Because he has the best house in Fermignano, doi."

"Helga." It was about five years ago when things had gone down between him and Emilio. He had the scar on his hip to remind him of it and Arnold owed that asshole a trip to the hospital. Emilio and he always seemed to be one assignment apart from each other, but one day he will break his fucking nose. And arms. And legs. And maybe his middle finger.

He really hates that guy.

"Relax. He wasn't home. Quinten and I crashed and I left him a personalized thank you note with you in mind. We would have stayed somewhere else but you know how crazy that town gets during the race."

Arnold scowls. If Emilio's place was the only option, then it was, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. They sit in silence again until she pulls off the pot and smothers the fire with a bit of water.

She leaves the oatmeal in the pot and hands him a spoon to share. When you lived on your feet, you had to be light. No extra utensils, no more than one cooking pot, if that. There were many times that she had to live off what she could scavenge any modern conveniences are a luxury item. And why carry bowls when that's exactly what the pot can be used for?

Helga smirks, suddenly thinking about her fake husband's antics. "Quinten did a little rearranging while we were there, too." Emilo's ass was so tight, she had no idea how that guy could take a shit. Not that she put too much thought in it. Arnold grins, wishing he could have seen Emilio's temper tantrum and can only imagine what Quinten had done. If there was anything about Emilio that someone needed to know it is that he's madly OCD.

"Stich didn't say why you were coming though."

Helga takes a bite of the oatmeal and makes a face. Too hot! "He doesn't know." She coughs and stirs the oatmeal to cool it down although she is very tempted to keep eating. Yesterday's food had been sparse and her stomach wasn't too happy about it.

"It was the strangest thing. I was in France to drop off the _Mauve Egg_ a couple of weeks ago. I get to my hotel room and there's this envelope on my bed. Of course I think it's from Jenkins so I open it and bam. Want to take a guess what it was?"

"Your bitch-aptitude results?"

"No, I'm still waiting for that." She lightly smacks him on his arm, hating that he is wearing a shirt and she badly wants to lift it off of him. Actually what she really wants to do was pull him back inside and fuck him until both were too sore to move, but business always comes first. There is a lot to share.

She eats another spoonful of their breakfast, ignoring the scorching temperature and reaches under her shirt to pull out a necklace. It is a small green stone, about the size of her thumbnail incased in a gold border. There are designs etched into the gold that looked random, but they both know what they really mean. The border had originally been broken for many years but is now intact.

If Arnold had been eating, he would have choked. Instead, he stares at her in shock.

"And there was a note," she continued. "It just said 'You should be more careful with your belongings.' No signature, no tell, nothing. Someone knew I was staying there and as far as I know, Jenkins was the only one. You didn't even know." She offers the pot and he takes it, still frowning.

"How did they find it?" It was a rhetorical question. They both know she doesn't have that answer. The broken necklace had been given to her by some crazy woman at the Cheese Festival when she was eleven. It had been the night of that fateful fire and she had not taken it off when she went to bed. It had been the only thing, except for her pajamas, that had survived the fire. For over twenty years she had worn it until one day, running around the jungles of San Lorenzo, it had broken off, chain and all.

She just shakes her head and looks towards the east at the sunrise. "I don't know. I don't know what to think of it either. It can't be from Jenkins. He wouldn't have been cryptic about it. And how the hell did they fix it?"

"Do you think it could have been from _them_?" Fucking _Head_.

"No. It was in Ancient Greek." She is fluent in over ten languages, three of which are considered dead. Ancient Greek is not one of them, but she knew enough to get by.

Helga trailed off, letting the meaning sink in. "Shit."

"Yep."

If it had been anything else, it would have been OK. Hijack a mission, sneak inside whatever or whoever's headquarters, find out what the fuck they wanted, then be out by the end of the day. He could be back at the dig site before anyone really missed him. The fact that it was written in Ancient Greek either meant that someone was just trying to show off or it had been chosen specifically because it was linked to Marcus Scott.

And if that was the case, they were all fucked.


	2. Out of the Ashes, Part 1

Out of the Ashes, Part 1

* * *

_23 years earlier…  
_

* * *

"_It was a murder-suicide."_

"_She just went crazy! Grabbed a gun and shot her husband and burned herself."_

"_Took gasoline and poured it all over his body on the first floor and then herself on the second."_

"_The girl was locked in her room and almost didn't escape the fire. Had to jump out of her window on the second floor."_

"Helga." The soft voice of her beloved saying her name shattered her surroundings.

She refused to look at him as she half-sat, half-laid on the hospital bed, still staring at the wall next to her. Almost everyone had come to see her, which had surprised the hell out of her. Helga thought she was hated by everyone, but there they were, passing on their condolences and signing their names on her leg cast as if it would erase everything that had happened in the last seventy-two hours. She had hardly said anything to them, unable to even lash out.

The one face she had wanted to see had not been part of the group. Not that she would ever tell anyone that. But, now, here he was.

He stood there in silence and she could feel his eyes on her, staring. No doubt she looked a mess with her arms all cut up and in a cast.

"Would you like me to go?" She didn't look at him or say anything.

_Yes. I don't want you to see me like this…so weak and stupid._

_No... Please don't go. I'm never going to see you again and I don't want this to be the last time._

He moved closer to her and she tried not to flinch. "I…I wanted to let you know that you can come stay with us." She frowned, still staring at the wall. What, no _I'm sorry for your loss_? No_, I can't believe this happened_? "My grandparents said it was ok so you don't have to go live with some other foster family far away. You can stay as long as you like. Or until your sister comes, whatever-"

She forced out a sarcastic laugh, interrupting him. "Stupid Football Head. I'm not going to wait for my sister. I'm not going into foster care. I'm going into some center for kids with issues or something like that." She mentally flinched at the lie and suppressed a sigh. Well, better him think she's crazy.

Arnold frowned in confusion, not taking his eyes off of her. "What are you talking about? What issues?"

She gave him a droll look but he just shook his head. "I don't believe you. You don't have issues like that."

She opened her mouth but miraculously caught herself. Looking down at her hands, she fidgeted with the blanket. Why not just tell him? Sighing, she turned her eyes upward to the ceiling.

"Some 'Men in Black' guy named Gray or something – what kind of a name is that anyway – in a suit asked me if I wanted to go with my sister or join his little government group. They said that I get to fight people and travel the world so why the hell not? My parents were murdered, Arnold, and I'm going to find their killer."

His eyes widened from shock. Those three sentences had completed shifted his world upside down. "Murdered?"

"My mom was an alcoholic and careless and forgetful, I won't deny that. And my dad had guns for hunting, but he never left his cabinet unlocked. _Never._ And Miriam was so drunk all the time there's no way she could have lifted a fork let alone _find_ the key to the cabinet, load a rifle, shoot Bob and then set herself on fire. I don't buy it for a bit. She may have been depressed but she wasn't like that." Arnold stared at her in dismay and worry, but did not question if she was lying. Why would she lie to him? She was always honest. Mostly, at least. He chose to ignore the jip about the center from moments ago.

This was probably going to be one of the last times he would see in her in a long time, if ever. He didn't want to think of that and he didn't want it to end with him trying to talk her out of anything. Nothing he said would change her mind right now. She was in pain and in shock and this wasn't how he wanted to say his goodbye.

Instead, he hugged her, silently letting her know that he wouldn't question her and that she could come to him with anything. He didn't know if she was really going into some governmental group after telling everyone else that she was moving with her sister to Alaska, but she wouldn't make up something so serious like this either. At least, he didn't think she would.

Helga didn't fight back and any other time she would have been ecstatic to be in Arnold's embrace, but now she barely felt it. Instead, she closed her eyes and lowered her head, focusing on her breathing and to keep from crying. She would not cry in front of him. She would not break. Not yet.

They didn't say goodbye. There were no words that could be expressed. He came by three more times after that but they never really said much. He mostly just sat there, waiting for her to open up, but she never did. Not that he really expected her to, but Arnold knew that she really needed a friend.

Phoebe came every day but he never saw her.

Two weeks later, Helga was out of the hospital and on her way to prepare for her transition to Arkansas.

And Arnold was being visited by one Mr. Gray from _O.G._ at the hospital across town, being treated for minor burns of his own after rushing out of an inferno that had swallowed the boarding house the night before. Not even Abner had survived.

* * *

They only took orphans and guardian-less kids with little family. None was preferable. She had never really given it much thought before, but after her first field assignment, she knew why. It wasn't just to keep their organization a secret. Outsiders made things messy.

In her first field assignment, she had left with a group of eight and came back with three. She hadn't known the others, since they were part of groups from other training camps, so it wasn't as hard to lose her comrades for her in the beginning. But as the weak were weeded out and the stronger thrived, they all became close.

There were four training camps located throughout the country and every month brought more recruits. Kids were promised what they wanted the most: for some it was the idea of a family; for others, like Helga, it was the promise of vengeance. In the end, after all the fucked up shit she had learned and gone through, she stayed because of the people. And because of Arnold.

She hadn't known what to think when he got onto the private plane with her that early Fall morning. He hadn't said anything to her at first, but he didn't need to. There was only one reason why he would have been there and it wasn't because he wanted to join in her crusade. His eyes had said it all.

It had been a tough transition for both of them. During the flight they were cordial to each other, but neither really said much. If it had been any other time, it may have been considered awkward. But, as it were, both had recently been ripped out of everything they had every known. Helga didn't want to admit it, but it was scary.

There were two other kids at the orientation into the world they had willingly joined; one younger than them and another older. Age didn't matter here. Knowledge, experience, and ferocity did. You either were tough or you were trampled.

She knew Arnold wouldn't last. She knew from the first day that Arnold shouldn't have been there. He should have stayed home and lived with his cousin, as much of a freak that he was. More than once she wondered if he came because she was there, but never gave it more than just a passing thought. Of course he wasn't.

They learned that there would be one teacher per student. This teacher would force them to learn how to think, to fight, to strategize, how to find their weaknesses and transform them into strengths, immerse them into languages, and who the hell knew what else. But something that did resonate with her was Isolation. They would be separated from everyone else until their teacher was satisfied they were fluent enough in the language they were forced to learn, blocking out any temptation to revert to their mother language, or any other, and fluency meant just that: it included both reading and writing. Until then, they would not see anyone else except their teacher. Even mirrors would be prohibited. Mirrors!

Helga thought it was a joke.

It wasn't.

The last time that Helga saw Arnold was after they had been introduced to their instructors and were finishing up a really late lunch. After this, they would be lead to their solo-rooms for the duration of the time that they needed to learn French. It was a daunting task ahead and Helga was not looking forward to it at all, but it was what she had to do. She would find out what happened to her parents and get her vengeance.

Yet, on the other hand, she was freaking out a bit too. She and Arnold had been together for about forty-eight hours now and they had yet to fight. The recent terror of realizing that they were both truly alone had not really set in with each other yet, and Helga knew this. Arnold hadn't really acted any different, just a bit quieter than normal. There were no panic attacks or crying or anything remotely close to what she would have expected from him, that she herself had experienced while in the hospital. It was like he had just flicked a switch and turned that part of him off.

It was fucking creepy and very un-Arnold.

All day he was acting buddy-buddy with her and she had no idea how to handle it, especially since she wouldn't see him for who-knows-how-long in just a couple of hours. So she pulled up her defensive mechanisms and turned inward to her anger, projecting it out on the only person who had ever been truly nice to her.

"Do you think we'll learn both languages fast?" They had been told they would learn French and then Spanish, and were expected to be fluent in both in less than a year. What were they, crazy? "That'll be pretty cool, I guess. French and Spanish. I never thought I'd really learn one, let alone both."

Helga laughed sarcastically at him, very aware that his face was turning a fine shade of pink because of it. "Oh please, Football Head. You're too much of a dreamer. You're way too distracted to be able to learn any other language except Geek-Bait-anese."

Arnold's face flushed deeper, slightly taken aback by her complete turn in attitude. Up until now, she had been quiet and nice to him. "You're wrong, Helga."

"Oh yeah?" She looked up at the boy, turning her stare from her plate to him, laughter still apparent on her face. She didn't bother waiting to talk again after taking a bite into a baby carrot. "I bet you that I can learn both before you can."

Without hesitation, he held out his hand. "You're on!"

Helga eyed his hand before his face, contemplating and slowly chewing the carrot. After she decided that he was serious, she smirked and shook it. "Fine. Winner chooses prize."

It was the last time that they would be able to talk to each other. Helga could barely remember the last English conversation she had. Her lessons, both academic and physical, were in French. For the first week she flipped out, screaming at her instructor that she didn't understand what they were saying, that it was only Greek to her and how the hell would she ever be able to learn if they couldn't teach her in her own fucking language?

And what the hell was she watching! It was all stupid kid shows and soap operas!

The third week she said her first coherent sentence in two different tenses. By the second month she was reading at her age level. By the end of the third month, she was writing poetry up to her standard.

* * *

_Five and a half months later…_

* * *

With a sigh, Arnold sat at the lunch table, his tray in hand. He really hated today. Nothing had been going right, including when he had first woken up. Someone had messed with his alarm and everyone had left him without so much as a nudge. He got chewed out in front of everyone for being late, left his notes under his bed, forgotten that they were not allowed to speak anything other than French, – even if they were all out of Isolation – got reprimanded _again _for apologizing for his tardiness in English, got tripped in the hallway, and someone had taken the last tapioca pudding. They rarely had that, and it reminded him so much of home he would look forward to lunch every day for just the hope of them serving it. Of course he would miss it today of all days.

He really, really hated it here in Group. And he had only been here for three weeks. Five months of Isolation was much more preferable than this. Why couldn't he just go back to how life used to be? With his grandparents and the boarders.

His throat tightened at the thought of the accident. He didn't think he would ever cope with losing everyone and everything. His family, his friends…would he ever see them again?

How could he be so unliked here? It was really hard going from a place like Hillwood, where everyone liked him and everyone listened to him and his advice to a hellhole like this, where no one would give him the time of day. He was so desperate for companionship, that he would always keep his eyes out for Helga, particularly at mealtimes. He knew that it was futile because she was on a completely different schedule than him. Why Group felt the need to separate the boys from the girls he would never know. It wasn't like there were even a lot of them. Between both sexes, there had to have only been like sixty kids. And that included the teenagers.

He no longer had an appetite and was so caught up in his moping that he didn't realize that Yancy, the likeliest person to have sabotaged his alarm that morning, had come up right behind him. His only warning was the jerk's high-pitched, obnoxious laugh before something was dumped on his head. "_What's in your hair_, enfoiré?" he sneered in French. No English was allowed.

Arnold let out a surprised yelp and jumped to his feet, almost teetering backwards on the bench he was sitting on, which caused even more laughter from his tormenter.

Before he could get his bearings back and react to whatever the heck was on his hatless head, Yancy was on the ground. There was a collective gasp and then silence from the cafeteria that seemed to drag out.

As he turned to face a downed Yancy, his hand frozen in midair as he was reaching for the upside down cup that was stuck to the top of his head, he saw Helga looming over his bully, her fist still clenched.

Yancy was crying, holding his face and writhing on his back in obvious pain. "_No one ever touches _Arnold_, but me. Got it, _cunt flap?" Yancy did a poor attempt at nodding and Arnold was surprised to hear her speaking in French. It was logical that she would, but he hadn't seen her in months and then bam, here she was sticking up for him in the middle of lunch yelling in the language of love.

Helga lifted her boot, settling it down between his legs. Yancy froze as Helga pressed down, forcing a strangled cry from the bully-turned-victim. "_Louder,_ dickshit!"

Yancy cried out again and Helga removed her boot. "_Now get the fuck out of here._" She glared at the onlookers, all who promptly returned back to their meals as Yancy scrambled to his feet and out of the cafeteria.

Arnold could only gape at her.

Helga turned to the table once she was convinced that Yancy was gone and everyone was minding their own business. Picking up a tray Arnold hadn't realized was next to him, she pushed it to the other side of the table and took a seat across from him, not waiting for him to sit. What the heck was going on and why was she being so completely nonchalant? Did the last two minutes really happen?

He watched her, still gapping at her, as she began to cut up an apple. "_I left _Isolation _after three months,"_ she continued in French with a smirk. "_How about you?_"

Still trying to convince himself that one, she was really there and two, she had just kicked Yancy's ass, Arnold didn't immediately catch what she had said. When he did, his eyes widened. She left after _three months_? _Helga_? "Um…_five…"_

Her smirked broadened. "_Looks like I won that bet then, _Football Head."

Arnold sat down, finally reaching for the cup on his head and realized that it was honey, and did not correct her that the bet wasn't over yet; they still had to learn Spanish. He frowned deeply at it and took the napkin she handed him. "_What are you doing here?" _He found his voice and she hesitated for a minute and he momentarily wondered why.

"_I'm being transferred. Turns out that I'm doing pretty well here." _He blinked at her, not really knowing what to say.

Apparently she took that as an insult and she pointed the knife at him. "_What, you think I'm stupid?" _He just shook his head.

"_You've never been stupid, _Helga. _It's just…what's going on? I haven't seen you since orientation and you just show up in the middle of lunch, beat up a guy, and are sitting across from me for lunch." _A lunch time that was reserved only for the boys, but they both knew he didn't have to say that. He glanced around for a moment and noticed that there were a lot of boys looking over at her and he realized that it was probably the first time they had seen a girl in a while, especially if they didn't have female teachers. He frowned at that and looked back at her, hoping someone wouldn't do something stupid. _"Thank you…by the way. But you really didn't have to do that."_

She just shrugged and dipped the apple into peanut butter. _"No one gets away dumping honey on that football head of yours. Actually I'm going to have to say American football now, _non_? By the way, it'll come out in the shower."_

He stopped trying to get the sticky stuff out and was relieved to hear that. In fact, he was relieved to see her. Now that things had calmed down, he was fully able to appreciate her being there. After a moment, he grinned for the first time in months. "_It's really good to see you, _Helga._ I was beginning to think that I had imagined you being here._"

She grinned back at him and he ignored the bits of apple stuck to her teeth. "_Not so lucky, _hair boy. _You can't get rid of me that easily._"

Feeling a bit more relaxed and oddly finding comfort in her un-translated, familiar nicknames, he wiped the honey that slipped down his neck and also started breaking into his lunch. "_So why are you here?_"

"_I told you, I'm being transferred._"

He gave her a look. "_To the boys' group?_"

She shot one back. " . _I'm moving into Group 3 and I leave this afternoon. This was the only time that I could get lunch after packing and other shit._"

He stopped eating then and stared at her as a figurative bucket of cold water was dumped over him. Even though Helga hadn't been around, he knew that she was somewhere in the same underground building and that it was only a matter of time before he would see her again. The kids here were all nearly around his age so it just made sense that they would 'move up' in levels. And there were plenty of whispered rumors that they were _co-ed_. But Group 3 was in Nevada.

He was truly going to be alone.

She had finished her peanut-butter apple slices and was staring at him now, her arms crossed on the table. He didn't need to look into a mirror to know that his face gave away his fear, and so nothing was said as they stared at each other across the table: he in almost-panic mode and she unusually calm. It was Helga that spoke first. "_I told them that I wasn't going anywhere without you._"

And so that was how they found themselves in Group 3.

Helga was immediately put into Isolation for Spanish and Arnold continued with his French with the Group. He had a new drive and new motivation. Once he completed his Spanish Isolation, he would be put into Group training and unlike Group 1, _everyone_ here was put together.

Group 3 was much smaller than Group 1. There were only two other guys in his classes before he left for Isolation a week later. It was weird, especially because he had thought that Group 1 had been small. This wasn't even a comparison to that group of sixty.

It would turn out that they were all recently transferred. Group 3 had been the weakest Group and everyone had either been killed in missions or were MIA. He wouldn't learn that for some years, though, or else it wouldn't have been an easy transition for anyone. Arnold was still in denial over everything, and even though he was learning how to fight defensively and offensively, they really were not going out to play G.I. Joe. This was just like some sort of weird boarding school.

Spanish was easier for him than French had been, but it probably helped knowing a similar language. On the off chance that he stopped to reflect on the bizarre changes his life had brought in the last seven months, he would have been awed at what had been able to accomplish. Fluent in one language and on his way to a second, learning how to fight outside of karate, how to strategize...but he refused to think about it because thinking about it meant remembering the accident and he couldn't do that.

Not now. Instead, he pushed it down inside, burying in depths he hadn't known he had. He could only move forward. Once he passed Spanish, it would be a whole new game changer. Things would be different after that. He just knew it.

* * *

Arnold had been out of Spanish Isolation for about seven weeks.

At first he was a little smug when he realized Helga wasn't out yet. It just meant that he had been able to learn Spanish before her despite the week starting difference and he was proud of picking it up just shorter than French. But after another couple of weeks rolled by and still no Helga, he started to get worried. He should have asked one of the teachers, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd rather have a false security of thinking she'd show up any time than the truth that she wasn't there anymore.

"Oye_, _Arnold!" He just finished setting his tray down at a table when he heard his name, jerked out of his thoughts. His back was incredibly sore from how many times he had been flipped in that morning's technique training and he really just wanted to be left alone, even though it was almost impossible in their small numbers. As the weeks passed, more started coming out of Isolation and their little group had grown to a whopping number of four guys and one girl. Kayla didn't seem to have a problem with that, though, and really fit in.

He forced out a smile as Jonathan, or Stitch as he was called because he loved to actually stitch things, sat across from him. He liked Stitch, but sometimes he was just a little bit too loud and too much, and Arnold was really in no mood to be hackled. "_How are you holding up? It looked like you took quite a beating today,_" Stich snickered, sitting across from him at the round table.

"_Sore, but I'll live_," he responded in French. They all spoke both languages when they were together in order to keep the knowledge fresh. It was awkward sometimes, but they were always up for the challenge. He often found himself thinking in both, but realized that if he didn't keep up with English in some way, then he may lose it. Especially since there was still a strict no English rule. Any other language was fine. He didn't understand why there was such an importance to learn languages but yet was not allowed to speak his own. Soon he'd be learning another. It was just insane.

Quinten, a tall and quiet guy, supposedly spoke nine. He'd been with O.G. the longest and the rumor was that he joined when he was two. The guy didn't really interact with the rest of them and his nose was always in a book so the rumor was never validated. Even now he sat off to the side reading something with a stoned henge on the cover. Arnold himself had only spoken to him a couple of times. The first had been when he had originally joined Group 3. The others couldn't even really be called a conversation; the guy spoke maybe three words.

"_So when are you going back into _Isolation?_"_ Stitch asked with his mouth full of mashed potatoes. Arnold sighed, picking at one of the vegetables.

"_Two days. Brazilian Portuguese._"

"Dude_, that's awesome! I've always wanted to go to Brazil. All those hot _mamacitas._ Maybe they'll send me there too._"

Arnold didn't respond as Stitch went on about Rio and beaches and babes. He had just gotten used to these guys and was really starting to feel right about the whole thing. He was not looking forward for another five months in Isolation. Maybe if he tried really hard, he could cut it down a little early.

Why had he even decided to go with 'Gray from O.G.' anyway? He had been so hurt and angry that he thought this would be a good way to escape things. And while he did stay really busy and rarely had time to think about how things used to be – even nights he'd be too exhausted to do anything else but pass out the moment he got into bed – there were times, like now, that he wondered if he had made the right choice. Heck, he'd been in this organization for almost a year, and he still had really no idea what the organization did. But he didn't really stop and ask either.

When Gray had shown up at the hospital, he had instantly known who he was from Helga's description and really had not needed to hear the full spiel. Gray had left, giving him time to think about it but Arnold had given his answer before the strange man had left the room.

He had only seen Helga twice. Once when they first got there and then again when she had transferred with him. He had spent his birthday in Isolation last year, and he'd be doing the same again this year. Had she spent her birthday alone, too? His was coming up in a just over two months. Holidays were the worst for him here because they had meant so much to his Grandma. The instructors usually gave him the day off, but he refused, instead working the hardest to block out the memories and feelings.

Why was he even with this weird organization, anyway?

* * *

Portuguese took seventeen weeks. He was thirteen-years-old when he left, but he felt more like thirteen hundred. It was hard to keep up with his stupid lessons, he had no motivation to box or kick or swing swords around – really, swords, what was this the 17th century? He just wanted to learn Portuguese and get back to people and the tiny bit of civilization that the other kids had created. His Isolation prof was great, but this one-on-one crap was getting really old, really quick. And the movies and shows he was forced to watch were borderline torture.

Arnold was a people-person. He thrived on being around others and helping and giving advice. He hated the fighting and the idea of hurting people. The closest that he had ever gotten to anything like that was with Gerald and the FTi incident. This was Helga's element, not his.

Helga. He so badly wanted her to be there at breakfast when he walked in, but he knew she wouldn't be. She never was.

It would be his first time seeing everyone again, and he really hoped he was wrong and that she would be there. He was drowning and he needed to know that he wasn't going insane with this extremely drastic turn-of-events from the last two years. Knowing she was nearby wasn't good enough anymore. Only by seeing her, touching her would convince him that he wasn't falling into something dark. All too often he had to push away dangerous thoughts and he hoped that being back with familiar faces would help.

He wasn't holding his breath.

Arnold rubbed his face as he walked into the cafeteria and was immediately bombarded by Stitch. "Arnold! _Thank god you're here!_" Arnold blinked at him, trying to focus on the Spanish. Spanish and French were different enough, but having just come from Portuguese, it would take some getting used to.

"_What?"_ He'll stick with French and hopefully Stitch will as well. Fat chance of that.

"Dude, _we have been in fucking Hell without you."_ Stitch steered him towards the buffet and kept his voice low and Arnold was both surprised and grateful that Stitch took the hint and switched to French. He noticed that there was only one food tray on the tables, abandoned, which could only belong to Stitch.

"_Good morning to you, too,"_ Arnold grumbled and rubbed the remaining bits of sleep from his eyes before grabbing a tray.

"Dude! Super serial! _It started a few weeks ago. A couple of new chicks popped up and _Quinten _has been hanging out more often, big surprise right, but then he starts hanging out with just one, and the other chick, _Lucy_, apparently got jealous or something and there was a huge fight and nobody fucking came to stop it so we all had to do it ourselves and now there's eleven of us, well twelve now that you're back, but then Emilio is going into _Isolation_ in…two days or something, so I guess we're back down to eleven, and we're fucking_ _divided, _dude."

Arnold stared at him, trying to follow his rapid Spanish and wrap his brain around what the heck he was even talking about. "_You're all divided?"_

"_Yes! We've really needed you here. You'll be able to snap sense back into everyone. I feel like I'm in a fucking_ _zoo._"

"_What's the big deal about that? What makes you think I can do anything?"_ He slowly moved down, grabbing tons of toast and skipping the eggs. Almost all he had to eat in Isolation were foods in high-protein and anything remotely like junk food was golden.

"Dude! _Because you're…you._"

"_If people don't want to be friends, you can't force them. I don't see what the big deal is, anyway. Cliques are normal_."

"No way, dude. _Before you left, that was how things should have stayed. We're too small to have animosity against each other._"

Arnold sighed and sat at the table with a thud. He didn't even know what was going on so how in the world was he supposed to help? "Ok…_ So…what's the problem again? _Lucy_ is upset because…_?"

"_Because she's not dating _Quinten," Stitch gave Arnold a look like he should have been paying attention. Arnold just blinked at him.

"_And?" _

"_And what? That's it! _Chicks _are crazy, but this is a whole new level, believe me._"

"_Does Quinten know this?_"

"_Of course he does. He keeps telling _Lucy_ that he isn't interested and that he has a girlfriend already. Can you imagine, dating someone in a place like this? That's another crazy thing too! Like last week, I was-_"

"Quinten _isn't interested in her because he's gay,"_ Arnold interrupted, not having the energy to listen to any more stories, and lathered up his bread with tons of butter. He couldn't wait to dig into that stack of gravy-covered home fries.

Stitch squeaked and Arnold ignored him. How the hell he didn't know that was beyond him. "_He's what! How do you know that?"_

"_He told me. Just after we got transferred. He was upset because he had to break up with his boyfriend._"

Stitch stared before busting out laughing and Arnold continued. "_Obviously he's just messing around with _Lucy_. I'm surprised though. He seemed to rather stick to himself than try and start trouble, let alone try and put up a divide between the Group. He's hardly said much more to me." _Arnold still didn't understand why this was a reason for Stitch to be so upset. Sure, they had all really liked each other when he had left, so it sucked hearing that there seemed to be some sort of problem with everyone, but everything always settled after some time.

And Quinten pretending to be straight did not seem to be as big of an issue as Stitch was making it out to be. Arnold questioned it again.

"_Well, it's mostly _Lucy_ hoarding all the new people,"_ was Stitch's reply._ They're starting to take on her personality too, which really sucks but now that you're here, everything will be back as it should._" Arnold raised his head to give Stitch a look, wondering why he would think that, but then a commotion outside of the cafeteria prevented him from asking.

A girl he didn't recognize, who was definitely a couple of years older than him, was walking with two other guys he didn't know. One had to have been about eight, maybe seven. His heart broke for the kid, wondering what had happened to him. He seemed meek and it was obvious to Arnold that he was following around this duo because he thought he was supposed to. Maybe was even bullied into it.

The trio ignored them, walking right up to the buffet. The girl let out a shrilly laugh and Arnold cringed. "Lucy?" he asked in a hush tone. Stitch replied with a quick nod. Arnold couldn't help but wonder if the reason why she was acting this way was because, like all of them, she was hurt by the loss of her family.

It was something they never spoke about. They all knew why they were there so why bring up painful memories?

Then another group walked in, but these guys he did know. It was Quinten who pointed out Arnold at the table, much to his surprise. Quinten, the always quiet, corner-sitting kid was actually grinning at him as Arnold was swarmed by his friends. He smiled at everyone, answering quick questions and it wasn't long before everyone had their meals. Their voices and laughter echoed throughout the room and Arnold finally began to feel his spirits lift.

His unhealthy breakfast was quickly devoured and he had already gone back for seconds. He couldn't get enough of the stuff. What he wouldn't give to have a cheeseburger right now, or a corn dog from the pier. Breakfast or not, he would do almost anything for any junk food. And, oh god, candy. He could barely remember the taste.

Arnold stood up from the table, tray in hand to discard. "_Anyone want anything_?"

"Yeah!" piped up Stitch. "_See if there are any oranges left_? Man,_ they were so fucking gooooood!_" He just shook his head at the continued profanity and smiled, heading towards the buffet. It was really good to be back. He had missed these guys and after seeing how everyone was this morning, he really didn't see the issue his friend had been so upset about earlier. Stitch was one to exaggerate a lot, anyway.

Perhaps he was-

"Hey, Helga! Morning!" Arnold whipped his head towards the front of the cafeteria at Quinten's casual announcement and froze when he saw her walking in with a large yawn. Her head was down and she hadn't brushed her hair that morning. In fact, she hadn't even changed out of her pajamas. At least, the sweats and baggy shirt looked like they could be pajamas. Her eyes were barely open and she looked like an absolute mess. But Arnold couldn't help but think she was one of the most beautiful things he had seen in years.

He didn't realize that he had dropped the tray he was holding, although it would explain why she was suddenly looking at him, and didn't realize he had moved. And when he got to her, he didn't hear the collective gasp in the previously-silenced room when he hugged her tightly to him.

"A-Arnold…!" He could feel how tense she was and it was only a second later that she tried to push him off of her. Arnold hugged her tighter, refusing to let go.

"_I started to think that you really weren't here._"

She grunted and lightly pushed against him again. "_You're wrinkling my clothes, _Football Head." He pulled back, grinning at her and she was taken aback to see how glassy his eyes were. Helga had refused to think that he would miss her, especially now that he had _new_ friends. She hadn't even taken a step into the cafeteria all those months ago to realize that he wouldn't want her to be with him, bullying him like before, and she had turned right back to her instructor, demanding to be put back into Isolation. She didn't care for what. Arnold had looked so happy with those boys and that girl. He was obviously finding his place in this fucked up new world and she couldn't take that from him.

But now here he was, _hugging_ her! And it looked like he was almost going to cry. Her heart thudded hard against her ribcage and she was going to make a snide comment, but stopped herself when she saw the rest of his face.

He looked like death. His once bright skin was ashen and she could count how many circles were under his too-small eyes. He looked like Arnie…only worse.

"_Your clothes are already wrinkled, _Helga."

"_Yeah, well, you're making them worse_," was her snappy, automatic reply. She mentally flinched, having not expected this type of reaction from him and wondered if she would ever say the right thing. When his grin didn't waver, she gave a small smile, still startled at how juxtapose his appearance was. She was going to say something else, perhaps something nicer, when she heard the whispers.

She looked around him towards the others with a scowl. Although the whispering was too soft to hear exactly what it was they were saying, she had no doubt they were asking each other how they knew each other – she knew that Arnold wouldn't have spoken about her – and why was Quinten's 'girlfriend' giving him any attention at all.

She huffed and showed them Ol' Betty, glaring at them with trivial menace.

"_You better shut your mouths if you know what's good for you!"_

* * *

"Helga?"

She snapped opened her eyes with a gasp and jerked to her right, unconsciously trying to find the source of the sound that woke her. Her heart leapt in her throat before settling down in her stomach, finally recognizing Arnold's dark outline after a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to being roughly awoken.

"_What are you doing here_, Football Head?" she whispered harshly in French. He stayed silent, seemingly staring down at her and unmoving. She felt unnerved and slowly started to sit up, ignoring the tinge of fear licking down her spine. "_What's wrong_?"

Her heart thumped hard in her chest when he moved towards her. She felt the blanket lift up and he slipped quietly under the covers, leaving her in stunned silence, trying to figure out if she was still asleep or what the fuck was really happening.

His arms moved around her, gripping onto her tightly as he buried his face into her neck. She flinched when she felt the wetness on his face and her stomach dropped. Oh. "Arnold…" He clenched her even tighter and let out a sob.

Helga bit her lip as her arms came around him, holding him loosely in uncertainty. A million thoughts raced through her mind, images flashing and being replaced as quickly as they appeared. Was he hurt? Was he sleepwalking? Memories of her younger childhood were brought forth of her waking up in Arnold's house, not knowing how she had gotten there. It couldn't have been junk food in Arnold's case. They weren't allowed to have any.

"They're dead," he choked out and she suddenly felt even sicker at the realization that this must be the first time that he's really accepted the fact. She remembered that time on the plane, heading towards Arkansas. She had thought he was acting a little weird, but didn't force anything out. She could tell he was miserable when she saw him months later in the boys' cafeteria; there was a dullness there that she had never seen from him before.

And then just last week, when he had hugged her like she was a long-lost friend. His face had been hollow, his eyes sunken. She had seen and read things that had given her nightmares, but nothing was as chilling to that.

Over the last week, he seemed to be getting more sleep because the darkness and circles under his eyes were diminishing. He had color in his face and he seemed to be eating ok.

Another sob brought her attention back to him and gentle hands moved through his hair, hoping it was just as relaxing for him as it had been for her. The occasion had been extremely rare, but she could remember the comforting feeling of when her mother would do that for her. The last time had been her sixth birthday and her mother hadn't known why she was upset but had tried to soothe her anyway. Of course they had all forgotten her birthday. She closed her eyes against the assault of unwanted memories, forcing them back into the recesses of her brain. This wasn't about her tonight.

But she could not help the few tears that did fall, stubborn and resistant to her pleading to actually stop. She silently cried for him. She deserved to be in a place like this, away from their friends and locked away from society. Arnold didn't.

It wasn't long before they had both fallen asleep, both lost in their own grievances but fully aware of each other. No word had been exchanged; none were needed. The knowledge that they had each other, no matter what happened, was enough.


End file.
